Tuesday, January 31, 2017

A little background on how this story came about. I took part in a contest put on by NYCMidnight.com. You are given three prompts. With those three prompts you have 8 days to write a short story. No more than 2500 words. Here's what 3 prompts and 8 days produced.Prompts: Romance / First time on an airplane / a librarian

The
Terminator: A Love Story

A
foul-mouthed librarian flies to Seattle to meet her online suitor for the first
time.

By

Chris
Todd Miller

Naomi Adams maneuvered her olive-green name-brand
sauté pan to a side burner as quickly as possible without spilling her latest
attempt at tasty vegetarian—sliced zucchini in olive oil and garlic. She mostly
succeeded, at not spilling dinner. Whether she succeeded at “tasty” vegetarian
was another matter altogether.

The chimes echoed again. FaceTime told her
that Michael was calling. She skittered across the hard wood floor in her
stocking feet to her reading nook. Her cat, Mr. Darcy, sat perched on her
laptop keyboard. Stacks of books rose up around him like a metropolis under
construction, not a one had fewer than six Post-it notes peeking out from the
pages. Mr. Darcy voiced his displeasure at being removed from his spot. “Oh,
hush, you old charmer.”

She clicked the green button and
Michael’s face appeared. Her heart flittered like a school girl on prom night
waiting for her Prince Charming to pull up in the drive. At this point in her
life, he didn’t need a white stallion either, Kevin Bacon in a beat-up VW bug
would do just fine.

“Hi, Darling,” Michael said.

“Hi, yourself,” she replied. “Didn’t we
agree not to do this? It’s like seeing the bride before the wedding.” She could
hardly take her eyes off his smile. So enchanting, so, sigh, Mr. Darcy-esque.“

“I know. I know. But I couldn’t stop
thinking about you. I can’t hardly wait to see you in the flesh.”

She felt her face go hot, and cleared
her throat. “Michael,” she said with a coquettish lilt, and looked away.

He chuckled. “In person, I mean.”

Neither
spoke, and as the silence teetered on the edge of awkwardness, she asked,
“How’s your licensing coming along?”

“You
know, transfering domain names and websites, and making sure nobody hacks the Gibson. What
about you? Are you nervous for your flight?”

“A
little, but I’m doing what I can.”

His
brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Let
me show you.” She held up a laminated sheet with checklists, timelines, maps, itineraries,
and notes, including highlighted sections in three colors. “I have my entire trip
plotted out to make my first ever flight as uneventful as possible. And if that
doesn’t work, there’s always vodka.”

He
shook his head and laughed. “You never cease to amaze me. With that kind of a game
plan, you could be the head coach of the Seahawks.”

“That’s
football, right?” she asked.

“Right.”

“I
know we have the Falcons here, but I’ve really never understood the game. Why
do they smack each other on the butt?”

She
tucked her legs underneath her and they talked about the dynamics of muscle-bound
men fighting over an inflated ellipse, inflated to, she would learn, 12.5 to 13.5 pounds
per square inch. The conversation proceeded to all the things they would do
when she got to Seattle. By the time they signed off, the zucchini was cold.

“Excuse me,” Naomi said to the guy
sitting in the aisle seat of her row. If she was getting on a plane for the
first time in her life, she wanted the full experience. He obviously wanted the
aisle seat due to his height, but rather than stand up so she could get past, he
shifted his knees to the side. She clambered over him, and her copy of Diana
Gabaldon’s Outlander tumbled out of
her bag and landed between his feet.

“Shit,” she said. She looked at the NBA-wanna-be.
“Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ve got it.” He
handed her the book.

She took her seat next to the window. Relax,
Naomi. Millions of people do this every day, she told herself.

The plane systematically filled as the
other passengers arrived. Naomi was beginning to think that she wouldn’t be
forced to share an armrest, when a guy squeezed past the hatch just before the flight
attendant latched it behind him. He had a backpack slung over one shoulder, and
he spent several minutes trying to find an overhead compartment that would
accommodate his pack. He found one with space enough for a handbag. He pulled
out the two bags already in place, turned them around, and forced his bag in.

“Sir,” said the flight attendant.
“Please take your seat.”

“Sorry. Sorry. One second.” He grunted
as he made his third attempt to slam closed the overhead bin.

Naomi gave herself a mental high-five for
reserving a window seat. She feared for the person sitting beneath those bags.
A strong sneeze would jolt the compartment open, let alone turbulence.

As she feared, mister
everybody-wait-for-me took the seat next to her. As he sat, she laid her arm
across her lap, atop her worn copy of Outlander.

A pleasant voice came over the
intercom. “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome aboard flight 636 to Seattle,
Washington. My name is Maria. My crew and I will be taking care of you today. Our
anticipated flight time is five hours and twenty-three minutes. Now we request
your full attention as the flight attendants demonstrate the safety features of
this aircraft.”

Naomi turned her attention to the safety
demonstration. The guy next to her leaned over and said, “I can give you the
Cliff Notes version.”

Naomi glared at him. “I suspect you’re
very familiar with Cliff Notes.” She turned back to the demo.

He smirked. “You look like a smart
girl. I suspect you’ll figure out how that seat belt works, but if you need
help, let me know. I helped an old lady through security a minute ago.”

She shushed him.

“Wait a minute. Is this your first
time?”

She looked at him from the corner of
her eye.

“It is your first time! Seems like we
ought to be flying Virgin Airlines, then. You know what I’m saying?”

Naomi sighed and summoned her best Ms.
Manners voice. “Yes, it’s my first time. Would you be so kind as to shut the
fuck up so I can make sure I don’t die on this flight?”

He laughed. “Oh, salty. You’ll be just
fine. Most people on this plane aren’t even listening. Besides, flying is safer
than driving.”

She looked at him. “What’s your name?”

“Nick.”

“Nick, I’m well aware of that statistic;
however, you may note that we’re not in an automobile. The fact that I’m on an
airplane flying twenty-six hundred miles to meet a man I found by playing Words
with Friends overrides logical thinking. It’s all I can do to suppress the
fight or flight instinct.”

“I see what you did there. Not bad. Not
bad at all.”

She chuckled. “I can’t help myself. I
make bad jokes when I’m nervous, and I cuss.”

They sat in silence while the flight
attendants completed their spiel, although she caught him glancing her way from time to time. As the plane taxied the runway, Naomi
repeated the motions in her head of how to utilize her seat cushion as a flotation device.

The plane positioned itself on the
runway and accelerated. The wheels rumbled and the world outside whipped by as
the aircraft approached lift. Naomi felt herself forced back in her seat. She
inhaled sharply. When the wheels left the ground, she grasped Nick’s hand.

“You might like it. The romance aside,
there’s plenty of warring and fisticuffs. Bound to be a classic.”

“My idea of a classic is Linda Hamilton
and Schwarzenegger in The Terminator.
Do you know it?”

His mocking jab did not escape her, but
she found it oddly charming. “It’s not that far a leap from Scottish Highlander
to futuristic killing machine.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“A little, but only to calm my
nervousnousand . . . nerves.” She made an exasperated face. “Whatever. When it
comes to romance, I’m stone cold sober.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I was
kidding.”

“You like war? Sex? Violence? An
underdog? Time travel?” She patted her book. “It’s all here. Besides, I could
argue that the original Terminator is more of a romance story than science-fiction.”

“Now I know you’re drunk.” He motioned
for the flight attendant. “Miss? No alcohol for this one. Diet Coke only.”

“I’ll take a Jack and Coke.”

Nick held up two fingers.

She turned toward him. “I’m serious.”

“Prove it.”

“How about a wager?”

“Name it.”

“If I’m right, you pay for my drink,”
she said.

“Pfft. Done.”

She cleared her throat. “What was the
point of the movie?”

He raised his hands in a “duh” gesture.
“To kill Sarah Connor so she could never give birth to her son, John, who leads
the rebellion against the machines in the future.”

She noted the mic-drop look on his
face. “Of all the soldiers, why did John Conner send Reese back?”

“Trick question. Reese volunteered.”

“Why?”

The attendant came by with their drinks
and passed them over the guy now sleeping in the aisle seat.

“To meet the mother of the legendary
John Conner. She would have been like a religious figure to them. He couldn’t
pass up that opportunity,” Nick said.

“Yeah, he says something like that
initially, but later he talks about the picture that John gave him. The picture
of Sarah.”

She saw realization settlein his face.
“He was in love with her before he ever met her,” Nick said.

“Bingo. Anybody else goes back to
protect her, he either fails, because he does it out of duty instead of love,
or succeeds in protecting her but doesn’t knock her up. This is a love story
with a sci-fi sub-plot. No love story—no story. Period.” She tossed back the
remainder of her drink. “You owe me eight dollars.”

“How do you know all of this?” He peeled
off a ten-dollar bill from a fold of bills in his front pocket. “Here, but I
refuse to admit it.”

“Your money is acknowledgment enough.”

“Seriously, how do you know about stuff
like Jane Austen and The Terminator.
Are you some kind of a savant?”

“Jane Austen and the Terminator. That
could be the next mash-up movie hit.” She reached into her purse and pulled out
what looked like a credit card.

“What’s that?”

She handed it to him.

“A library card? You go to the library
a lot?”

“I am the library, bitch.” She put her
hand over her mouth. “Sorry. I mean, I’m a librarian.”

Nick laughed so hard Jack and Coke came
out of his nose. He wiped his face with the minuscule napkin that came with his
drink. “At least now I know your name, Naomi Adams.”

The plane jumped as it hit a pocket of
turbulence. Naomi gasped and grabbed Nick’s hand.

“You keep latching on to me and people
will think we’re engaged.”

The turbulence persisted and she held
on for another minute.

“Thanks.” She released his hand. “And I
don’t care what they think.”

“Why don’t you two get a room, or go to
the lavatory and join the mile-high club, already,” said the man in the aisle
seat, who she thought had been asleep since takeoff.

Nick leaned over and whispered
something in the man’s ear. The haranguer’s eyes widened.

“Sorry. Sorry, man.”

Nick tilted his head.

The man leaned forward and looked at
Naomi. “Sorry, miss.”

“What did you say?” she whispered.

Nick shrugged. “Nobody fucks with the
librarian.”

She touched his arm. “You can be quite
charming, you know that?”

“I have my moments. Tell me about your guy
in Seattle. He’s got to be something to win the heart of the world’s most
foul-mouthed curator of the written word.”

She cocked her head. “There’s a rumor
in some circles that Christopher Marlow had quite the potty mouth.” She
gestured with both palms down. “Okay. Don’t laugh. Like I said, we met playing
a random match of Words with Friends. After about a dozen games, we started
chatting and ultimately, FaceTime.”

“Did you give him money?”

“Cynic, much?”

“Some. Did you?”

She pursed her lips. “How do you know so much?”

“Pardon the expression, but it seems I
can read you like a book.”

“He needed it for his certifications
and licensing. He’s in IT Security.”

“I’m not even going to ask how much.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m not going to tell
you.”

“Let’s change the subject, shall we?”
he asked.

“Let’s.”

Nick’s versatility amazed her. He had
something to say on every topic she presented. Once she got past his initial
bravado, she decided she liked him. She got the impression he couldn’t find his
way around the Dewey Decimal system, but found herself enveloped in his stories
about cities he’d visited on every continent, except “that cold one.” He’d
never been there. She surprised herself
by the disappointment she felt when the Space Needle punctured the horizon. She
hadn’t expected to feel that way. Hadn’t expected it at all.

The seatbelt light went dark,
underscored by a succession of clicks. “Well,
Naomi Adams, we should do this again some time, maybe even—”

“Shut up. Don’t ruin this.” She
gathered her bag and her book and clambered over Nick and the sleeping giant.
She allowed herself one look back before she stepped into the jetway.

Nick found her at the baggage carousel.
One battered olive green duffel bag circled the carousel. He shouldered it then
walked over to Naomi. She sat on her suitcase, alone.

She held up her phone so Nick could see
it. “His number is no longer working or has been disconnected.” Shame welled up
inside her and she fought to keep her composure.

Nick sighed. “May I speak?”

She nodded.

“Can I buy you a cup of coffee? I
understand it’s kind of a thing here.”